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And by chaste Lucrece' soul, that late complain'd Her wrongs to us! and by this bloody knife! We will revenge the death of this true wife.

This said, he struck his hand upon his breast,
And kiss'd the fatal knife to end his vow :
And to his protestation urg'd the rest,
Who wondering at him, did his words allow !
Then jointly to the ground their knees they bow,
And that deep vow which Brutus made before,
He doth again repeat, and that they swore.

When they had sworn to this advised doom,
They did conclude to bear dead Lucrece thence,
To show her bleeding body throughout Rome,
And so to publish Tarquin's foul offence.
Which being done with speedy diligence,
The Romans plausibly did give consent
To Tarquin's everlasting banishment.







AH, wherefore with infection should he live,
And with his presence grace impiety,
That sin by him advantage should achieve,
And lace itself with his society?

Why should false painting imitate his cheek,
And steal dead seeing of his living hue?
Why should poor beauty indirectly seek
Roses of shadow, since his rose is true?
Why should he live, now nature bankrupt is,
Beggar'd of blood, to blush thro' lively veins;
For she hath no exchequer now but his,
And proud of many, lives upon his gains.

O! him she stores, to shew what wealth she had,
In days long since, before these last so bad.

Thus is his cheek, the map of days, outworn,
When beauty liv'd and dy'd as flowers do now;
Before these bastard signs of fair were born,
Or durst inhabit on a living brow :
Before the golden tresses of the dead,
The right of sepulchres were shorn away,
To live a second life on second head.
Ere beauty's dead fleece made another gay,
In him those holy antique hours are seen,
Without all ornament itself, and true,
Making no summer of another's green,
Robbing no old, to dress his beauty new:

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